wayward and different from the conventional, aristocratic set. The
disordered golden hair proclaimed it, while in the depths of the fine,
blue eyes manifold changing lights told of a capriciousness out of the
pale of a stiffly decorous and well-contained caste.

"May I go, too, aunt?" she repeated.

"Why, of course!" interposed a blasé, cynical-appearing young man who
had just emerged from the cabin. "Don't know where she wants to go, or
what she wants to do; but don't say she can't; really you mustn't, now."

"Well, since you insist on spoiling her, Lord Ronsdale--"

He twisted a blond mustache which adorned a handsome face that bore many
marks of what is called experience of the world. "Couldn't do that!
Besides, Jocelyn and I are great chums, don't you know. We're going to
be married some day when she grows up."

"_Are_ we?" said the child. "The man _I_ marry must be very big and
strong, and must _not_ have light hair."

Lord Ronsdale laughed tolerantly.

"Plenty of time for you to change your mind, don't you know. Meanwhile,
I'll not despair. Faint heart, and so on. But," turning to Sir Charles,
"where is it she 'wants to go?'"

"To see the convicts."

"Convicts? Ah!" He spoke rather more quickly than usual, with accent